Thank God It Wasn't Real
by Mythical Element
Summary: Dean drops the bloody knife. Sam nearly cries from his brother's words, "…I could've killed you again…" and he speaks a prayer then and there. Loud enough for his brother to hear. Three years later, Dean nearly cries from his brother's lie. Sammy's gone.


Disclaimer – Any copy rights in relation to Supernatural respectively belong to Eric Kripke, the WB/CW, and any other affiliates.

Author's Note – This story has plot elements from seasons two through six, mainly from four and six. So there will be "spoilers". Reader discretion is advised.

It will be posted into three parts. Parts two and three are coming soon.

The story is influenced by my favorite poet, Wilfred Owen.

* * *

><p>…<p>

Help me, I am in Hell

"Do you yield, Dean?"

His flesh is slowly slashed away from around his chest cavity and up along his back. Not deep enough to rupture his innards but close enough for parts of his upper spine and ribcage to become visible among split flesh. Falling bits incinerate upon contact with the ground. His blood singes away before it has a chance to seep out his wounds. No opportunity for a bleed out this time. He screams his soul out, voice reverberating with the others. Wails of the punished. The damned. All unanswered. He calls for one man only.

"Saaam! Sam. Sam. …Sammy…Sam…"

It becomes more of a litany of what is (was) his life. His purpose for being here.

"Ah, ah, ah, no one can save you here. No matter how much you call him. Give in already, Dean."

Sharpen rib bones of human remains are struck over the rest of his body not already marred, leaving ribbons of cuts along his arms and legs. His head though, is left untouched. That is strange…too bad he couldn't form any coherent thoughts at the moment to really think about it. Tattered pieces of skin and muscles hang away from his bones. He knows he has to be a sickly sight to behold. The smell alone makes him want to retch.

"Want the pain taken away boy?"

Unconsciously, tears are streaking his face. It hurts mostly for him to breathe. His green eyes are wide open, with blood surrounding his irises. Just about the only things he can move willingly on his body, besides his mouth and vocal cords. He knows the latter is more for that white-eyed bastard's delight. His heart thumps sporadically in his chest. He is in pure agony. Pain. Misery. Whatever the hell there's left to call it. All he knows is that he wants it gone. Gone for good. Though, he holds strong. He refuses to give it the satisfaction of breaking him. He knows this will go on for eternity, until he becomes one of them. One of those black-eyed bitches. Ripping other souls apart and finding pleasure in their cries and infinite deaths in this circle. It hurts to just roll his eyes up to stare at that ugly white-eyed son of a bitch but he gets his message clear across to it: _Fuck. You._ I won't give in. Putrid smoky gas from fissures around the place is drifting in the air and reflects in his eyes. Changing the colors in them like the mixture of a blackish-green acid.

Dean only amuses Alastair to no end. It believes in the immense potential this human has…and well, it's a start. It swings a short, rusted iron blade to and fro at its right side, slowly making its way towards his suspended body. Dean is held there in the air by its power –No chains. No shackles. No ring of fire. In a mockery of the humans' beloved savior on the cross. In its mind, he's a lovely sight to behold. It stops a step away from Dean and hunches forward so its nose is just about touching his.

"Time is irrelevant boy. You think you can withstand it forever. Let me tell you this now: No one. Ever. Does. Old Johnny was fun though. Not many make it past a century, I'll give him that."

With a flick of its right wrist upwards, the tip of the blade is at Dean's pupil. It contracts smaller in response.

"Ah, if only he didn't run out that gate and left me all alone." Dean's eye tracks the tip, moving right then left then center again. "No matter. I have been given a new protégé to work with. You're my _favorite_ soul in a long while, ya know that Dean." Alastair lowers the tip downwards and towards the right slightly, like an artist beginning on a blank canvas and drags it along his cheek. Down from the corner of his eye to nick off just under his chin and then lifts the flat side of the blade up to his lips. A streak of blood marks his pretty face. Dripping off his chin and evaporating instantly once it touches the ground. It rests the blade against the man's pale lips for a moment. Then slowly, it grates it across, back and forth, until they're darkened a coppery red. It lifts the blade away and glides the tip under his jaw, stopping along the pulse point on his neck. Alastair can feel it thudding through the iron. The erratic pulse of a human in fear. It notices Dean's eyes are following its every move and it looks up from its work to look at him. And it realizes its mistake. No, it's not in fear.

Undeniable fury and pure hatred are in those redden-dark green eyes. Reflecting its own form of torments right at it. Alastair is all too happy at this sight, smiling all the while and closes in on his face again.

"You Winchesters never cease to impress me. That's the same look your daddy gave me Dean." Gone is the humor from his voice, replacing it with a flat, inflectionless tone. Its nasally voice becoming more pronounce. "Even through all the fun times his own sons had with him. Oh, his body was begging enough but his eyes-" It makes a raspy hum of joy at the memory. "The _windows to the soul_ can't be true enough. So much cold anger and disgust for his boys. But no, No. He would not take satisfaction in gripping a blade, which it flashes up in front of Dean's face and shakes just for the fact, and making another soul bleed. What a waste." The blade vanishes from its hand and it frowns. It watches Dean's eyes widen during its revelations then change into that acidic glare again. A grin appears back on its face.

"I hope you're not as boring as he was, Dean. I want you to learn from me. Achieve what your dear ol' daddy couldn't. Freedom from this torture and _punish_ those who deserve it so much more." Alastair lifts its left hand and caresses his bloodless cheek. Nails scraping the surface of his skin. Causing it to become inflamed.

That is _it_! He's had it with this freak! Dean strains vigorously against the unseen force holding him in place. A hopeless effort but he is past all types of sense at this point. The pain be damned. He is going to kill. This. Fucker.

"Ha, ha, yes! Now my student, show me what it is you're capable of. It's all up to you now."

It claps its hands once in delight. Dean is Alastair's boy here. He just needs to be taught that. Alastair turns away and Dean's body regenerates. And they begin again. From the top this time.

"I'm only guiding you. You'll accept it in time…I'm giving you a choice here, will you take my blade now? No? Well then, let's do something about those eyes of yours. Sight is not something you're going to need for what I'm about to do."

Alastair merely laughs as Dean closes his eyes. Yes, it's in fear now.

…

After three decades, Dean is done. No more of the pain. No more calls for the one who can't hear him. At this point, he doesn't even remember who the one he calls for is. Although he should. He knows he should. But whoever the person was is now faceless in his memory. Not like he cares at this point. He can't take it anymore. He's had enough…

"Yes, yes, YES! Now give me the damn knife already, Alastair!"

A righteous man has fallen at that point. The brigade of angels came too late…

Over a decade passes and souls are destroyed by this evolved human. One by one, they perish by its hand of torment. Its humanity is all but gone. Its (human) soul is corrupted by a demonic presence ever growing in its wake. Every soul it breaks makes the presence pulsate stronger…but not this time.

Another poor soul is held in the air by its power. The soul is bound like the holy son to be crucified but without the cross and restraints. It's one of its favorite ways to begin, courtesy to his teacher. It already stands in front of the soul, black eyes looking up at his. One of its hands is splayed across the skin above his sternum, patting softly against the spot with its fingers and in the other bares its knife at its side. A short, rusted piece of iron.

The soul's light brown eyes are staring down at him too. No anger or fear there. Just a longing for…something and a sadness that is beyond its understanding. Its fingers still their movement and it grips its knife tightly.

"I won't kill you right away, so tell me…what are you looking for here?" It swings the knife upwards and stabs straight through the bone, about halfway through him, where its fingers lay. It sharply pulls the knife away and blood, with bits of bone, gushes out. It allows the soul's vocal cords to move and a piercing low cry of a name reverberates in its mind. _Dean!_ It stops mid-motion of thrusting its knife back into the bloody hole in his chest. Its eyes focus in on the blood flowing around its fingers and trickling down its hand. Suddenly, it remembers a time when its hand is holding the back of a man. The blood is seeping too quickly through its fingers. It's yelling pleas to the sky, though it knows all hope is lost. It falls to the ground on its knees, bearing the weigh of the man with it and it pulls its hand away from his back. Too much blood. Its entire hand is soaked with it. And the man is dead. He's dead!

"It couldn't be…not him…he's alive…I'm here because he's alive…he's alive and he's not here…alive and not here…" Its memory is gaining back fast. A time capsule of memories long forgotten, before its time here, begins to play in its mind.

"Deannn…" His name is whispered this time in a stuttering intake of breath. The man makes short groaning noises, trying his best to suppress it. The man is slowly dying and Dean remembers. He remembers him. All of it, he remembers.

"Sammy?" His glistening green eyes lock onto his little brother's darkening brown ones and there's relief in them. Sammy is even making a small, hopeful smile. He backs away a couple of steps. The impossibility of this overwhelms him and his forgotten knife clunks to the ground. His hands are shaking as he brings them up to fist on his head, causing his body to tremble. The power keeping Sam in place is lost in the foray of Dean's conflicting emotions and he collapses down. On instinct, Dean is right there by his brother and catches him in arms, holding him steady before they crumble to the ground. Sam's head is cradled to his left shoulder with his bloody hand and the other holds flat against his scar free back. This is not Cold Oak. Dean convinces himself. Sammy isn't dying…again. His watery green eyes look ahead, not noticing others taking notice in them and staring back. He feels his brother panting against his neck and his quicken heart beat against his palm. All Dean cares about is that Sam is alive. But he's not going to be. Dean couldn't regenerate wounds like his teacher could. Sammy is going to die soon. And he can't stop it. And it's his fault. All his fault…and he was…he was…going to enjoy it…killing his own brother! There's a hitch in Dean's breathing and Sam startles from something wet hitting his cheek twice, causing him to turn his face away from Dean's neck. Sam couldn't stop the moans of pain coming from his mouth.

"I've got you Sammy, it's okay, I'm not letting you go you hear me, it'll be okay, just stay with me…please don't…don't leave me…" Dean tightens his other arm around his brother's shoulders.

Sam reaches a struggling hand up to place on Dean's head. Dean stares down at his brother at the contact, silently telling him not to move and that it's a waste of energy. Sam huffs out a choked cough instead of a chuckle at his brother's face. His chin now rests on Dean's shoulder and he looks out ahead. Sam sees the other beings, humanoid souls that are corrupted and tortured beyond recognition, ambling towards them. Menacing things that have become curious and doubtful of the two. He gently ruffles with Dean's hair, trying to soothe what he can for now.

"Dean…I'm sorry for not saving you…I tried man…I tried everything I could think of to save you and it…it wasn't enough so I'm sorry…" Sam takes in deep breaths now. That much talking hurts him a lot more than it should.

"So I guess…I gotta let you go…you gotta let me go…or we're…we're going to continue in this circle of life and death…enough's enough…so let me say this before…'fore I pass out…I love you, you're my big brother and-and I'll always follow you wherever you go…there's nowhere you can't go…without me being there…" He ends it with a content smile on his face and lets his head fall against his brother's neck, eyes drawing shut. His hand slips from Dean's head and hangs loosely over his shoulder. The slow rise and fall of Sammy's chest against his own gives him the only sign that his brother is still alive. He can barely feel his heart beating anymore.

Tears are tracking down Dean's face and he selfishly believes that Sammy shouldn't have to say those words. He's heard them all before. He doesn't want to admit it but Sammy's right. Dean just can't accept this though. This couldn't be the end. His brother can't be dying, not again, not because of him. He'd _never_…except he did, but he didn't know. He didn't know the soul is Sammy's. He'd forgotten…his own brother…no way he could've…but he did and Sammy's dying…it has to be a dream…a cruel one, but it has to be…

The once-humans gather around the brothers in a circle. Some of the courageous ones are close enough to touch. Others are keeping their distance, deeming that it's not worth it to get that close to the souls that are strangely pulsing with each other. Death is coming for the broken soul and the beings don't understand why the tormentor is holding onto it like so. One being's curiosity becomes too great for it and its skeletal fingers reach across Dean's vision. Shiny black eyes are on it in a flash and Dean snaps his head at the creature.

"Get away from us. NOW." With his power, the being's hand starts to disintegrate, along with the rest of its body into a pile of ash. The beings from afar scurry away, back to their holes at the command. The closest ones stay, enraged at the killing and try to provoke Dean. Why not kill the soul. It doesn't belong. Let it die! There are millions of souls like –Dean hears enough. He raises the hand away from Sam's back and clenches it into a fist. A tremendous shockwave of energy causes the beings to collapse to the ground.

"You twisted freaks don't get what I'll do for this _soul _right here. I told all of you to _get out of our sight_ and the ones that did get to live another day. The rest of you tainted low-lives want death? Then you can have it." Dean splays his fingers, with his palm facing the ground. As he slowly lowers his hand down, the demonic presence within him dominates his human soul, compressing it until there is hardly any space for it to exist in his body. His hand hits the ground and the tortured life-forms are obliterated into particles of dust that blows away as he closes his eyes. Look at what he has become. No longer human. Just an evil thing with no soul…

"No, Dean. Your soul is there and shines brightly still. The righteous man will be saved." A voice answers from everywhere and his frantic green eyes look around. Another voice he recognizes from scattered memories and he is about to call out to it when a hand grips tight of his upper arm and it _burns_. Nothing like anything he's felt before. It feels like its searing away at something in his core and he cries out. A blinding white light illuminates from him and he's gone.


End file.
